Chapter 2: The man in crimson

Rhian’s heart pounded in her chest as she tiptoed across the plush carpet, every step echoing in her ears like a drumbeat. The early morning light painted golden streaks across the unfamiliar room, highlighting the scattered hints of luxury—marble floors, velvet curtains, and a faint scent of expensive cologne lingering in the air.

Wrapped in a robe she found draped over the bedpost, she moved swiftly, her bare feet silent against the floor. Her silk nightdress clung to her like a memory she didn’t ask for. What the hell happened last night?

She creaked open the door just a crack and peeked into the hallway. Empty. Quiet.

Good.

Clutching the robe tighter around her, she slipped into the corridor, carefully closing the door behind her without a sound. Her eyes darted left and right, scanning for security cameras or passing staff. Nothing. She exhaled in relief.

Moving quickly but gracefully, she navigated through the long hallway, past unfamiliar paintings and tall potted plants, until she reached the grand staircase. She descended lightly, like a thief in the morning light, and finally reached the front door.

Rhian paused, turned the handle, and slipped outside into the warm sunlight. The moment the door clicked shut behind her, she grinned to herself and tossed her wind-blown hair over her shoulder with dramatic flair.

“Smooth, Monteclara,” she whispered, her voice triumphant. “No witnesses. No regrets.”

But she was wrong.

Just around the corner inside the hallway, leaning casually against the wall with arms crossed, Damon watched her departure with quiet amusement. The smirk tugging at his lips grew as he murmured to himself:

“She really thought she got away.”

His eyes glinted with something between curiosity and interest, and without moving from his spot, he added, “Now I really want to see if she keeps that promise.”

Still leaning against the wall, Damon let a few more seconds tick by as he listened to the faint click of the front gate.

He pulled out his phone, tapped once, and brought it to his ear. “She’s gone,” he said coolly.

A voice on the other end replied, “Do you want us to follow her, boss?”

“No,” Damon said, watching the spot where Rhian had just vanished. “I already know where she’s going.”

There was a beat of silence. “And… what now?”

Damon’s smirk deepened. “Now? We give her a head start.”

He straightened, adjusting the cuffs of his crimson shirt, now loosely unbuttoned. His tone shifted, almost amused. “She thinks she left without a trace. But she doesn’t know she left behind more than perfume on my jacket.”

He turned and walked back into the room where she had slept. His gaze swept across the untouched breakfast tray, the crumpled bedsheets, and the faint indent of where her head had rested. On the nightstand sat something she hadn’t realized she’d forgotten—her custom-made Glam Perfume business card, edges slightly bent from being tucked into her purse.

Damon picked it up between two fingers and studied it.

“One scent, one story, huh?” he muttered.

He pulled his phone out again, snapping a picture of the card and sending it to someone.

Then he slipped the card into his jacket pocket and murmured to himself, “Let’s see what story you’ll tell when you realize you just proposed to a man with enemies.”

With that, Damon strode toward the window, looking out at the city below.

Back at Glam Perfume HQ, the glass doors slid open as Rhian walked in, sunglasses on, hair pinned up, and fatigue in every step.

“Good morning, ma’am,” a staff member greeted her warmly.

Rhian gave a faint nod and a tight-lipped smile. She hadn’t planned to show up at work today. All she wanted was to lie low, drink some tea, and pretend last night never happened.

As she entered her office, Cathy, her assistant, rushed in.

“Is everything okay?” Rhian asked, noticing her nervous face.

“Ma’am, we… we have a walk-in client,” Cathy began, cautiously.

Rhian raised a brow. “And? That’s not new.”

“Well…” Cathy hesitated. “He specifically requested you. He said only you can craft the scent he wants.”

Rhian’s expression flattened, her tone dry. “And why exactly couldn’t you handle that?”

Cathy shrank slightly. “Because… he refused anyone else. He said he’d wait as long as it took—but it had to be you.”

That caught Rhian’s attention.

“And…” Cathy added, “he’s not just any customer. He’s one of the wealthiest men in the country.”

Rhian’s tired eyes sparkled with sudden interest. “Seriously? People like him are buying from us now?”

A genuine smile formed on her lips as curiosity replaced her exhaustion. “Alright, now you’ve got me curious. Let’s meet the mystery man.”

Cathy guided her down the hall and opened the door to the VIP consultation room.

“There he is,” she said, nodding toward the tall man in a sleek, charcoal suit, his back turned as he examined a shelf of scent samples.

“Ma’am, this is Mr. Damon Damien Alejandro,” Cathy announced. “A renowned businessman. He asked for you personally.”

Rhian’s footsteps slowed as the name hit her like a wave.

No way…

Damon turned slowly, meeting her gaze with the same sly smile from the night before—calm, composed, and dangerously charming.

“Good morning, fiancée,” he said smoothly, his voice like velvet. “Ready to help me find the perfect scent… for our wedding day?”

“M–maybe you’ve mistaken me for someone else, Mr. Alejandro,” Rhian said, her voice steady but her hands fidgeting behind her back. She lifted her chin, trying to hold her composure even as her nerves betrayed her. “I meet a lot of clients.”

Damon didn’t answer right away. Instead, he took a slow, deliberate step toward her. Then another. And another.

The room suddenly felt smaller.

She instinctively stepped back but stopped herself, forcing her feet to stay rooted in place. He moved closer still—close enough that she could feel the heat of his breath brushing her cheek, close enough to smell the familiar notes of spice and sandalwood on his skin.

His dark eyes dropped briefly to her pink glittery dress, then slowly lifted to meet hers again—this time filled with something between mischief and something far more dangerous.

“I thought you’d love wearing my robe,” he said in a low murmur, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. “But I can still smell the perfume I wore… today.” He winked.

Rhian’s breath caught in her throat. Her cheeks burned, but she refused to look away. “Oh no! Did I get myself into trouble?”